small bald patch had erupted by her left temple. She shivered all the
20
time, constantly cradled in layers of jumpers and blankets and socks.
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She had a cough that she couldn’t shake.
22
But I couldn’t admit any of this because I couldn’t stand to confront
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that reality. And my mother knew that. She knew, too, that Emma
24
didn’t have the strength to be much better and that, at best, she was
25
suffering.
26
My mother danced her nails across the wooden armrest and then said:
27
“John?”
28
“Jonathan?” I asked.
29
“Tomorrow,” she replied.
30
She pointed toward the calendar hung on her wall. I had bought it
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for her a few Christmases earlier, a generic calendar with dates but no
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days, with photographs of flowers, a different image for each month.
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She had been frustrated by her inability to remember significant
01
events— our birthdays, for example— and so we sat and filled in the
02
most important ones. Jonathan had been dead for a couple of years and
03
yet his dates were still my dates and I had written them in as though
04
they were my own.
05
I stood up and approached the calendar. Each morning, my mother’s
06
carer moved a small yellow sticker onto the day’s date. There was little
07
use knowing when the important moments would fall if she had no idea
08
where she stood.
09
The next day would have been Jonathan’s birthday.
10
I had forgotten.
11
In another life, I would have been preparing for weeks, if not for
12
months— with gifts and a cake and a card and balloons. I might have
13
booked a table at a nice restaurant or organized a surprise party. I
14
might have looked for wrapping paper that matched his personality—
15
decorated with bicycles or cricket bats or animals— or collected crois-
16
sants from the bakery.
17
And— even a couple of years ago— I would have been approaching
18
this day with lungs about to burst from the most insurmountable grief.
19
I would have been anxious and panicking, watching the days roll for-
20
ward, thinking of all the things I’d be doing if he were alive and the
21
things that I wasn’t because he was dead.
22
“Yes,” I said, wanting her to think that I’d remembered, that I al-
23
ready knew, because what sort of wife forgets her husband’s birthday.
24
“I’ll probably visit him. At the cemetery. First thing. Before I see Emma.
25
I’ll take some flowers, I think. Maybe a balloon. No, not a balloon.”
26
She nodded. “Dad?” she asked.
27
She sometimes— more often than not— forgot that he was no longer
28
a part of her life. She thought that he came to see her and, occasionally, 29
she told me about his visits. She told me that he brought flowers, al-
30
though there were never any in her room that hadn’t been brought by
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me, and that he had put up the shelves at home, although she had asked
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him to for years and he never had. He was well, she said, and I knew
02
that he was, but that he was well some many miles away with some
03
other woman who was not my mother.
04
Once, when we’d been squabbling about our shared responsibility,
05
Emma suggested that I visited so regularly, not because this was my
06
mother and not because of some sense of familial duty, but because I
07
envied my mother’s ability to forget. She didn’t know that the person
08
she loved most was no longer around.
09
I tended to avoid having this conversation with my mother where
10
possible: I either ignored her questions or replied with something ter-
11
ribly vague, something that suggested that he might visit sometime
12
soon without actually making a promise to pass on a message or to pop
13
in and see him myself.
14
Perhaps she had never tried to remember my father’s absence. Per-
15
haps she was happy to forget.
16
“Marnie?” she asked instead, with a smile.
17
“She’s doing really well,” I said. “Audrey’s doing great, too. She had
18
a checkup a few weeks ago. She’s putting on plenty of weight. Although
19
I haven’t seen much of her these last few weeks. They seem to be
20
so busy.”
21
“Motherhood,” said my mother, and then she yawned, as though
22
that, too, was part of our conversation.
23
“I know,” I replied. “But friendships are important as well. I’ve been
24
thinking that I should surprise her.”
25
My mother nodded her approval enthusiastically.
26
There was a clatter from next door and then a frustrated groan as
27
my mother’s neighbor dropped something onto the floor. We heard the
28
fast slap of shoes on tiles and then two nurses rushed past the door to
29
assist.
30
“I thought I might make her dinner,” I continued. “Do you remem-
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ber that we used to have dinner together once a week? I’m thinking I
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should reinstate that. It would be nice to have a way to stay in touch.
01
What do you think?”
02
In other places, with other people, the absences were filled by other,
03
louder voices. But here mine was the only one.
04
“I’m thinking of leaving work early next Friday,” I said. “It’s fine, re-
05
ally. Everyone seems to be sneaking off after lunch, what with the
06
weather and them all wanting to get away for the weekend. We have
07
fewer people to answer the phones, but— so what? The phones are ring-
08
ing less because everyone everywhere has buggered off on holiday. Any-
09
way, I know that Marnie meets up with some other mothers at three
10
o’clock on Fridays— she makes time for that weekly commitment— so I 11
know that she won’t be home. I’m planning to let myself in and cook
12
something incredible, something that even she will be impressed by.”
13
My mother frowned.
14
“I have a key,” I said. “So, no, don’t get the wrong idea. I wouldn’t be
15
breaking in.” I laughed and it felt awkward.
16
My mother began to shake her head.
17
“She gave it to me,” I said. “What’s the matter with you?”
18
“No,” she said, and her head shaking became more vigorous. “No.”
19
“Don’t be like that,” I said. “It’s a good idea. It’ll be a nice surprise.”
20
“A key,” she insisted.
21
“Yes, a key,” I said. My mother stopped shaking her head and stared
22
right at me.
23
I was the responsible adult in my family and yet she still occupied
24
this traditional omniscient mothering role with eyes that sharpened in
25
the way that only a mother’s can and a head tilt that demanded an-
26
swers. It took her weeks to accept that my father had really left— we
27
were sure he was bluffing— and when she finally did, she fell apart. He
28
sent us a postcard from a Thai beach explaining that he had a new
29
number now and that he wouldn’t be sharing it with us but that he
30
thought we ought to know that he was no longer ignoring our calls and
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01
messages but simply not receiving them. She cried and drank too much
02
and shut herself in her bedroom, and I went in regularly to leave water
03
bottles on her bedside table and load microwave meals in the fridge.
04
She hadn’t been much of a mother then.
05
“It’s fine,” I said. “Don’t get all worked up.”
06
She slapped her hand against her wooden armrest, hard, and she
07
flinched, snapping it back against her chest, trying to shake out the pain.
08
“Stop that,” I said. “Stop that right now. What are you doing?”
09
She slapped her other hand against her face and then knocked her
10
beaker of water onto the floor from the standing tray beside her.
11
I jumped up and rushed over. “What’s wrong with you? Stop mak-
12
ing such a mess.”
13
“Key,” she hissed.
14
“I’ve only just been given it,” I said. Which was the truth. “This isn’t
15
about— This hasn’t got anything to do with— ”
16
A nurse paused in the doorway. My mother and I turned to stare.
17
“Morning, Jane,” she said to me. “Morning, Helen,” she said to my
18
mother. “What’s all this about?”
19
My mother slapped her hand against her thigh again. She stared at
20
me, wanting to say something but unable to, incapable of finding the
21
right words to express that want.
22
“What’s the matter now? Your daughter’s here to visit you. It’s a
23
lovely treat.” The nurse knelt on the floor in front of my mother and
24
took her hands, holding them together so that the slapping ceased.
25
“Key,” groaned my mother. “Key.”
26
The nurse looked at me and I shrugged.
27
“I’m afraid I’ve no idea what’s set her off,” I said.
28
“Oh, dear,” said the nurse, assuming responsibility for the chaos.
29
“Well, I’m afraid I’m not sure either. What on earth’s got her so upset?
30
Why don’t you take a few deep breaths, sweetie?” Her voice was sooth-
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ing. “There you go. We’ll work this all out in just a minute, but let’s get 32N
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you all sorted first. Because we’ve had a lovely week, haven’t we? The
01
hairdresser’s been in and this is looking glorious now, isn’t it?” She ges-02
tured toward my mother’s hair with a wild sweep. “Did you tell Jane all
03
about that, did you? We’re all ready for visitors, aren’t we, so we are?”
04
“Key,” my mother insisted, still glowering at me.
05
“Right, all right, then,” said the nurse, sitting back on her heels.
06
“What do you need? You want a key? Do you want me to open the
07
window, is that it?”
08
She was thinking the worst of me: that I’d had the key all along, that
09
I was lying to her now.
10
My mother slammed her hand against the tray and the whole con-
11
traption toppled to the floor, sending her tissues, her water jug, and her 12
framed picture spinning across the room.
13
The nurse looked at me. “Perhaps we should— ”
14
“That’s fine,” I said, standing up. “Not to worry. I’ll be back next
15
week. Perhaps a bad night’s sleep or something.”
16
I was losing it, losing control, making mistakes.
17
I had told her before that I didn’t have a key. And— worse than
18
that— I’d said that if I did have a key, I’d have used it to save his life.
19
Which was nonsense. I’d used that key to take his life, and she now
20
knew it.
21
I wasn’t lying now, but I’d lied before, and she’d caught me in my
22
own web.
23
“Dad?” said my mother, and I turned to face her. She was asking for
24
him because she needed him. She wanted him to step in, to be my fa-
25
ther. She knew not to trust me, and she knew that she was too weak,
26
too frail, to put this right.
27
“You know he’s not coming,” I said in my most sympathetic voice.
28
“We’ve talked about this. He doesn’t live here anymore. Do you re-
29
member? He hasn’t been part of our family for years.”
30
And then I left.
>
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E L I Z A B E T H K AY
01
k
02
03
It was only afterward, on my way home, that I found myself wondering 04
if she wasn’t reprimanding me at all, if she wasn’t trying to punish me,
05
if she wasn’t angry but afraid. Was she protecting me instead? Was she
06
warning me, telling me to be more careful, to watch myself, to not get
07
caught?
08
Because isn’t that what a mother would do?
09
She was frightened for me. She had looked inside me and seen that
10
something was broken, noticed my fractures, and acknowledged that I
11
might not be the very best version of myself. And, despite that, she still 12
wanted to protect me.
13
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02
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04
Chapter Thirty- Eight
05
k
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07
08
09
10
W
11
hen I arrived home, I called Emma, but she didn’t answer
12
and so I watched three movies and ordered takeout and
13
then went to bed. I called her again the following morning and there
14
was still no answer, and I thought nothing of it because she was proba-
15
bly asleep— she was so weak and often exhausted— and because she
16
often isolated herself when things felt overwhelming.
17
I called her again on Monday after work and she still didn’t answer,
18
and I decided to head over to her flat with some fruit— she’d occasion-
19
ally eat a few slices of apple, even in her very worst weeks— and to re-
20
mind her that I loved her and that I wanted to help.
21
At no point over those three days did I for a moment consider that
22
she was in trouble, in danger, that something was wrong.
23
I arrived and knocked on her door. There was no response.
24
The police later asked me if I could smell anything at this point and,
25
although I’ll never forget that repugnant stench, I didn’t notice it then.
Seven Lies (ARC) Page 40